Slaying Dragons
by Sachita
Summary: -"A depressed Fed and a melancholy Air Force Colonel sitting together on a park bench. Doesn't that sound totally cliched? No one's gonna believe us." - "You know what, we could always say we're real-life actors."


_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned. No copyright infringement intended._

_Hi! This fic is a premiere in every way possible for me. I have never written a Stargate:Atlantis fic, nor have I ever written for the Numb3rs fandom. Oh and yes, I have never written a crossover before either. Nevertheless, I hope you'll give this a try. Please tell me what you think about it. (= It's just an idea that popped up in my head a few weeks ago and this is the result. I apologise for any grammar errors or other mistakes. English is not my first language and I am finding it hard to phrase this introduction at the moment^^, so I am sorry if it sounds strange^^ Oh, and it's not meant as slash.  
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_Please tell me what you think about it (=_

_-Sachita_

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**Slaying Dragons**

Special Agent Don Eppes parked his SUV in front of Palisades Park, Los Angeles. It was far past midnight, he realized with a brief look at the dashboard and sighing, he shut the car down and got out. Coming back to his apartment so late in the night had been a sobering experience. There was no warm light spilling out under the door, no happy wife opening the door with a smile and damp hair, all flushed from a recent shower…no kids, but well, of course he rarely dared to go so far with his thoughts. Plainly said, there was no-one. Hell, even his priced Vodka Flask was empty. Figures.

So out of a crazy, sleep-deprived mood he had decided to come here. It was not the most absurd choice he could have come up with; on the contrary, when he had been a boy they had all come here, playing happy family. Playing happy family? Good one, Don, he thought bitterly but he knew that the resentful thoughts currently occupying his head only came up because of…he didn't know. He'd tell people it was about the weather. But it wasn't. It was…ah, if he couldn't even admit it to himself how could he then to others? To Charlie or Dad? As his thoughts came back to them, he sighed again. They had had their good times in the past and still had them now- so why was he so cranky?

Deciding that he'd find no answer right now, he started out to the gate. It was an unsupervised park, just to his liking at the time. He could have gone to the park next to the FBI headquarters instead- it was closer for him- but he wouldn't have had the calming sound of the waves crashing on the beach. He had liked the sea as long as he could remember. It was one thing that he shared with his brother. Charlie. Oh yes, he could vividly conjure up a few choice words his brother would undoubtedly have ready for him if he knew about his whereabouts right now. But it wasn't as if he were a defenseless teenage girl. No, he was Special Agent Don Eppes and he could certainly hold his own against a robber – or worse. Not if it's a group of them, then you can't, the Charlie-like voice whispered in his head.

"Oh, shut up, you," he snapped loudly and winced as the words echoed through the silence. He glanced absent-mindedly at a sign. "Noises or raised voices are to be avoided after ten pm." Yes, Don had read the laws of the park. In fact he remembered standing in front of that very sign as a child, struggling to make out the words while dawn was falling over the city and his parents were sitting some way off on a park bench, their hushed voices just reaching Don. The irony of the situation didn't fail to occur to him now, many years later; the irony being that one of his earliest memories included familiarizing himself with a bunch of rules. Don's mind drifted again back to that day. It had been a warm summer evening. Baby Charlie had been sleeping next to them in his buggy. After a while his mother had become worried and she had called for him. "Donnie!" Her voice had echoed through the dawn, soft and sweet like a butterfly's touch.

Don shook his head as the voice of his mother faded away and continued walking on the sparsely lit path. And there, after a few trees, there it was . The bench. Their bench. He ran a hand along the smooth wood almost lovingly; it had become one of his favorite places to think – sometime over the last few years. However, he stopped when his fingers brushed over something hard. He picked it up and held it out into the light of the street lamp next to him. A newspaper.

And not just any newspaper. "Colorado Daily ?" A newspaper from Colorado in L.A.? He sat down on the bench and looked at it curiously. "Masked men commit bank-robbing near Denver City Park," he read out loud bemusedly.

"A shame, isn't it?" Don spun around and his hand was on his gun holster before he even registered the tall man standing in the shadows of the trees to his right. The man seemed to recognize his movement.  
"Easy there," he drawled softly in an accent that Don couldn't place. Generic American though. "I am not a burglar nor am I planning to shoot anyone in the next five minutes." Don stared at him somewhat dumbly, completely thrown out of pace. "Oh, and that's my newspaper," the man added finally with a touch of wry humor. Don could see his teeth gleam in the moonlight, as the man offered a roguish grin.

Somewhat thrown off, he got up. "Sorry," he offered finally lamely. "I am sorry. I didn't-" he motioned helplessly to the newspaper, "I didn't know it belonged to someone."

"It's alright." The man shrugged and sat down on the bench. "I don't think you expected someone to be here ." When he lifted his head and saw Don still standing there, he sounded amused. "I didn't sit down here to chase you away, you know. That park bench is still free, if you'd like to sit down." Bewildered Don sat down next to him and now that he could make out his features, he registered a man who was maybe in his late thirties or early forties. He had peculiar eyes; either green or brown, he couldn't have said. Black hair stuck out at odd angles from his head. Don finally allowed a little hesitant smile to come on his face, as the slight hilarity and oddity of the situation struck him. He was really becoming paranoid.

"I suppose you're right," he said. "I wasn't expecting someone to be here. My name is Don, by the way. Don Eppes." It was such a relief to be introducing himself with his name only, not adding the Special Agent that had to be attached normally.

"John Sheppard."

Sheppard didn't offer more, so Don was silent as well. But after a while, Sheppard lifted his head again and looked at him. "You're law enforcement, I take it?" Surprised, Don tensed.

"Yes," he said finally hesitantly, slightly irritated at having to give away his occupation to this stranger. But there was no point in lying anyway. "How did you know? What do you do for a living, sir, if I may ask?"

Sheppard rubbed a hand across his eyes. His voice sounded exhausted and a bit amused as he asked: "This is step one of law enforcement information extraction protocol, I suppose?"

"This is mere curiosity," Don replied dryly, but inwardly amused.

"I am glad then." Again that good-natured smile in the dingy light of the street lamp. "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, US Air Force, pleased to meet you."

"Special Agent Don Eppes, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Colonel. The pleasure is all mine."

Sheppard chuckled. "Seeing as we're sitting on a park bench in the middle of the night, I would be honored if you could drop the `Colonel´. It's Sheppard or if you want to, John."

Don contemplated this and after a short silence, he answered: "Seeing as we're sitting on a miserable little park bench in the middle of a miserable long night and are both sulking, I don't see why not. Don, if you like."

"I am not sulking." Sheppard crossed his arms in front of his chest and Don snorted cynically.

"Sure you're not. That's why you're sitting here in the middle of the night, pretending it's all sunshine and smiles."

John Sheppard sighed. "You FBI types are too perceptive. But I guess we're both in the same boat here. Hopeless cases."

Don made an odd sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh.

"What?"

"Just," Don shrugged, "it sounds like something straight out of a movie."

"You're right. I mean- a depressed Fed and a melancholy Air Force Colonel sitting together on a bench. No one would believe us."

Don smirked. "You know what, we could always say we're real-life actors."

Getting no reply except for a half-hearted laugh, Don finally picked up the newspaper again.

"Are you stationed in Colorado?"

There was an odd sort of hesitation in Sheppard's voice, as he replied: "You could say so." Don, however, let it slide. He was not interrogating this guy right now. The topic seemed to make his interlocutor uneasy though and thus Don said conversationally:

"One of the Agents on my team used to be in the Army. Army Rangers."

"Yeah? Where was he stationed?"

"Afghanistan-"

Sheppard was silent, and then he forced an unnatural laugh. "Yeah…" he mumbled softly. "Afghanistan."

Don winced. "I guess this wasn't the brightest thing to say, was it?"

"Doesn't matter," Sheppard replied quietly.

While Don wasn't often reprimanded for having a big mouth, sometimes his tongue just ran away with him. Sometimes. Now was such a time.

"Been there, done that, got the T-Shirt, huh?" he asked, wishing he could take back the words once they had left his mouth.

"You could say that," Sheppard answered, but it sounded a little forced.

Don pinched the bridge of his nose. "I got to apologize," he sighed. "Really. Sometimes being a federal agent doesn't come in handy- being blunt and all that at the most inopportune moments." – _when the wife is sitting crying on the ground next to her husband's body and you have to ask her about the faces of the assailants- when a kid sits wailing for his mother and you still have to extract all possible information- when a man's face is so bloodied you cannot recognize his features anymore and you still have to probe further-_

Don suppressed a shudder and blocked the voice out quickly. Instead he concentrated on Sheppard's voice: "…shouldn't worry about it. I have a high threshold for verbal attacks."

"Sibling?" Don guessed.

Sheppard chuckled. This time Don didn't understand the reason for Sheppard's amusement.

"Not really. Rather a personal pet scientist."

"Personal pet scientist?" Don couldn't fight the grin. It didn't matter if Sheppard was a little crazy or not. Neither did it matter why Sheppard, a member of the Air Force, would be working together with a scientist. He wasn't going to ask. This night all bets were off anyway.

"I got a younger brother myself," he amended absent-mindedly instead, thinking again of what Charlie would say if he saw him sitting here on that park bench next to that near-stranger. Near-stranger because something told Don that John Sheppard was able to understand the reasons why he was here tonight. Nevertheless, Charlie's words would surely be along the lines of: "the probability that you are in grave danger in the company of that Colonel is higher than-" But Charlie was not here tonight. And in a way that made him nearly ashamed, he was glad for it. "Yeah?" Sheppard asked. "What's he like?"

"Oh," Don paused, shaken out of his reverie and trying to get back into the conversation. "He's- he's – well, he attracts chaos sometimes, really. Forgets to eat, but invents ground-breaking math formulas. "

Sheppard sounded amused as he replied: "Sounds a bit like my pet scientist, you know. So where does he work?"

Don tried not to sound too proud. "He's a math Professor at University." He didn't add which university. No matter how much he liked or sympathized with Sheppard, he wouldn't be jeopardizing his brother by giving away any of his details. Of course Sheppard would be able to find out where his brother was working anyway, but that was beside the point. Don Eppes was never going to bring his brother in danger, unintentionally or not.

Sheppard whistled quietly as response, but offered no comment and thus they sat in comfortable silence for a while. A sharp breeze came up suddenly and made the trees' leaves shiver.

"Creepy," Don stated quietly.

Sheppard laughed lowly. "Yeah. You would expect the knight in shining armor to come 'round the bend any minute, chasing after a malevolent dragon beast…"

Don nodded in the darkness. "I used to love fairytales when I was little."

"Me too." Sheppard was silent for a while. "I liked the fight with the dragon always best."

"Agreed." Don chuckled. Another sharp breeze made him shiver. It was fall after all, even though this was sunny L.A. "But," he continued finally quietly, all exuberance fading, "I'd always find a way to save those- you know how they're called usually "the valiant heroes who tried their best to defeat the dragon, but found their death instead"- I'd find a way to save 'em. All of them."

Sheppard leaned forward. In the dim light Don could just make out his hunched-over figure. His hands were on his face. "You can't always save 'em all." His reply was muffled. "Even though you expect yourself to do it." The last sentence had been quiet and nearly inaudible. Don thought of pain and ghosts –_women, men…hell, children he hadn't been able to save_- and wondered about Sheppard's. He doubted he wanted to know about them.

"Yeah," he exhaled finally. "Guess you're right. But it- it doesn't hurt any less."

Sheppard was still hunched over as if in pain. "That's exactly why the knight in shining armor sometimes needs a hiding hole. Not as if the armor is exactly shining," he added as an afterthought. "It's rusty and looks better to outsiders than it really is."

Don laughed with a hint of cynicism. "So the knight needs a hiding hole- such as a dodgy old park bench?"

"Such as that." Sheppard sounded earnest. "There is sometimes just too many dragons out there," he whispered wearily.

"And the knight has to recuperate somewhere," Don added finally. "Repair the chinks in his armor, which returns us to the park bench."

Sheppard's own laugh was low and bitter, such as that of a man who has realized the coffee in his mug has become stale and cold. "I wish myself to the ends of the earth sometimes. Ice and snow. Antarctica. There it would be peaceful. No-one would ask the impossible, least myself. "

Don had listened carefully. He sure knew the feeling of being burdened with the problems of- at least that was how it felt like on some long, drawn-out days- the whole world.

So he eventually said quietly: "But you still gotta keep them safe, no matter what that task might ask of yourself..."

Sheppard exhaled tiredly and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah. To the best of my abilities, even if it's not enough."

Don was quiet for a while. In the companionable silence that followed, only the chirping of the crickets was audible in the warm night.

"The best part about fighting the dragon is of course getting the princess. " Don eventually stated lightly. He didn't like venturing out in the dangerous waters of feelings and emotions much; something that had often given Charlie "monstrous headaches", as he sometimes complained. John Sheppard however, seemed nearly relieved as he answered slyly: "You often get her, I take it?"

Don shrugged nonchalantly, but he was grinning. "I am horrible at relationships," he admitted finally wryly. "Yeah." Sheppard sounded as if he was holding back laughter. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. "It's a shame that the job obviously includes that fact."

"What fact?" Don felt dumb.

"Well," Sheppard clarified, "being a dragon-slayer obviously involves not getting things right with the princess. Living happily ever after, unless you got a divorce lawyer."

Don started laughing. "Damn," he gasped, "should have read the job description more carefully."

Sheppard smiled mischievously and Don found that he didn't want to go. Neither did Sheppard apparently. They talked about a lot of other things-

-about the inferiority of football compared to other much better sports (not that Sheppard agreed with that)-

"Baseball? Really? Rather took you for the football fan."

-"No, c'mon baseball clearly beats football. Really now."

"It _doesn't_."

"Does too."

- about the Vietnam war-

"Funny that I should be sitting here with you."

"Why is that?"

"My father used to take me to sit-ins against the Vietnam war."

"So he was like a hippie pacifist?"

"He even got arrested a few times. What about yours? Your Dad I mean?"

"He was no hippie pacifist, " Sheppard replied and it sounded bitter, so Don quickly changed topics-

-and they talked about flying-

"I don't like it so much," Don confessed. "Gives me the creeps when I imagine the possible plane crash."

"Are you kidding?" Sheppard sounded incredulous. "Flying- this speed, the thrill, the shapely forms-"

"You're sure you're describing a plane and you're not talking about those princesses again?"

"What?" Sheppard caught the grin on Don's face and shook his head. "Insolent law enforcement types," he muttered, but Don saw that he was smirking.

The edges of the horizon had been lighting up for some time and the night was slowly fading to make way for the new day. Startled, Don looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly 7 am . A red shine on the horizon made him look up.

"The sunrise," he said. Gripped by an idea, he quickly got to his feet. "C'mon. Follow me."

Sheppard seemed bemused, but he got up wordlessly and followed him to the beach. They sat down on a rock. The sun was just rising like a red diamond behind them, casting a crimson sheen on the stormy sea and illuminating their faces in a fiery light. Don loved this spot and he said so. Sheppard agreed. "I can see why you would," he mumbled. But other than that, they were silent, while the sun rose further.

Don turned his head to look fully at Sheppard. He felt as if this was the first time he saw the man and it truly was. Technically, Don saw him for the first time without the night's cover. He saw a face of a man of his age, pale and drawn with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of a long night. Don was sure that he didn't look much better. The eyes- and Don was surprised to see that he still could not say whether they were green or brown- were firmly fixed on the rising sun. The dark hair was tousled and unkempt. Frankly put, Sheppard looked a mess. Don felt almost as if he was intruding into something private or not meant to be seen and he hastily looked away. The night had been easier, when he hadn't really been able to make out Sheppard's face. The night had given them both anonymity, had made it easier to talk with a complete stranger. Now something had changed. The day had come to shed light on the stark truth.

Don got up uncomfortably. Looking at his watch, he realized that it was 7:30 am. He had to get to work. Sheppard hadn't got up yet, but with a look at Don, who was stretching to get the kinks out of his back, he did so.

"I gotta go," Don offered finally. "Work and all that."

"Yeah." Sheppard's smile was wry. "I figured you had to."

Don was silent for a while. Then, gripped by an impulse he asked: "You got any dodgy park benches in Colorado?"

Sheppard's grin was infectious. "Sure," he said and waited.

Don fished in his pockets for his card. "Call me when you're in the area."

Sheppard took the card and smiled. "Will do. If you're in Colorado, I will know."

Don didn't ask how Sheppard would know; he was nearly certain that he wouldn't get a reply if he did so. "Good." He offered his right hand to Sheppard. "See you."

"See ya." Sheppard shook his hand and offered an understanding smile. Don nodded at him and turned away. After a few steps, he heard Sheppard call out: "And be careful with those dragons."

Don turned around and smirked. "You take care with those princesses, you hear? Over-indulgence is bad for the stomach."

Sheppard chuckled and shook his head, waving. Don waved back and turned again to his path. Before he rounded a corner, he looked back. Sheppard was gone.

That day in the office, Charlie remarked that he looked pale and asked whether he was getting enough sleep. Eyeing him with red-rimmed eyes over a large mug of steaming coffee, Don replied that he did. Charlie looked at him disbelievingly and had that brother-concern-look in his eyes, which Don didn't like because it was clearly his job to wear the brother-concern-look, not Charlie's.

"Seriously, I am fine," he repeated.

Charlie shook his head. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Don looked at him seriously and then he gave Charlie an answer, which made the latter doubt his brother's sanity for the next few days, but which he eventually attributed to exhaustion and sleep deprivation.

Solemnly, Don said over the rim of his mug: "I have been slaying dragons."

_~Fin~_

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What do you think? (= (= EDIT: Thanks to Honest Criticism for pointing out the error. I really should have noticed that the sun doesn't set at 7 am *facepalm* (=  
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